Where Lagan stream sings lullabyThere blows a lily fairThe twilight gleam is in her eyeThe night is on her hairAnd like a love-sick lennan-sheeShe has my heart in thrallNor life I owe nor libertyWith love is lord of all.

And sometimes when the beetle's hornHath lulled the eve to sleepI steal unto her shielding lornAnd through the dooring peep.There on the cricket's singing stone,She spares the bogwood fire,And hums in sad sweet undertonesThe song of heart's desire